The Darkness in Waiting
by Iwillsingyoulullabys
Summary: Third story in the Darkness series. Probably best for you to read the first two to save confusion when reading this one. Hermione Granger is living in a post-war hell under the rule of Lord Voldemort, kept from her child and with suffering all around her, Hermione knows that she needs to fight back. But she can't do it by herself.
1. Come on, Captain

**Hello, this is the third story in my 'Darkness Series' . In the second one, Hermione dreamt of an alternate life, this is continuing with that alternate life. Hope you enjoy! xx**

* * *

In the beginning there was hope. And it was good. There was life everywhere. But he did not like it. It was not life that he could control it. For him it made little sense, so he chose a few and eliminated the rest; not even the innocent were spared. To control the small numbers he had left, strange hooded creatures were brought it that took your happiness and threw it into the darkness. There was so many of them they obscured the sun, so the plants died. It was a dark desolate wasteland now, and he saw that it was good.

* * *

The shriek slit through his throat like a knife. His body contorted with pain, his face twisted and bubbles of blood oozed out of his mouth and dribbled onto his shirt. Each finger had been slowly popped from its socket and the fingernails carefully removed. A gagging spell had him swallowing his own tongue so that he bit it when the pain became too much. From a hole in the side of his head poured more bloody making him woozy and tired. Still they did not give in.

'How did you get in here?' They screamed at him. 'How did you cross our borders?'

Numbly, he shook his head and then thrashed his legs as he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse.

'He won't be able to tell us anything with that gagging spell.' A voice uncertainly said from behind him. 'Let him speak.'

'He only speaks treason,' the torturer snapped. 'He can nod his head when he is ready to tell us, and if he only spews more hate then I will blow out his brains.'

A further curse was sent flying his way and he jolted with the shock of it. In all honesty, he was thankful for the gagging spell. He would not be revealing his secrets any time soon.

'The Dark Lord is still waiting.' A colder voice said. 'How hard can it be to break a young man.'

'This one's stubborn,' his torturer smacked him over the head. 'Proud.'

'Veritaserum?'

'We tried it. He seems to have taken some kind of antidote and even now his Occlumency is keeping us out of his mind.'

He sensed someone walking towards him, but due to the scratches in his eyes, he couldn't tell. Then he felt the sharp blade of a knife cut through the soft flesh of his diaphragm, he gave a hoarse exclamation of terror and the knife was pushed in further and twisted. His world went black.

The attacker stared in disgust, wiping the blade on his fine robes. 'Take him to the Dungeons and clean him up.' He ordered the torturer. 'The Dark Lord wants him alive.'

'Yes Mr. Malfoy.'

The Silent Healers, who could not pass judgement even if they wanted to, tended to the young man and soon had him upright again. All they knew was that the Dark Lord was very interested to know how he had got from France to Britain, despite the forcefield. This man had done was no one had done in years.

This man was George Weasley.

* * *

A war was going on in Britain, but the muggles were not sure who they were fighting. In the last five years, crops had dried up, the economy had found itself in tatters, and more and more muggles were deciding to spontaneously move. Britain was now little more than a wasteland, and Lord Voldemort liked it that way.

A forcefield was around the isles. Only those invited could come in, and any muggles with no knowledge of the Wizarding World could get out - never to consider returning. Soon, muggles forgot about Britain, and for the first time in centuries, the Wizarding population outweighed the muggle one. The muggles who remained lived in constant fear. They could not see the dementors that fed on their despair, but they knew full well that something dark and horrible was happening. They were all kept in the same enormous village, anyone who tried to leave would be killed instantly. For the most part they were left alone, but the threat of wizards coming in and taking some of them away always hung in the air. They did not know where those muggles went, they never saw them come back. Some were taken to be offered to the werewolves, giants, dementors and all the other dark creatures that had come out of hiding. Others were taken as slaves and traded - that was often the worst option. Although they were alive, it was never for very long; their conditions were brutal and they often fell ill, or if they disobeyed instructions or made a mistake, they would be offered to the Dark Art Schools who would practice the curses on them until they went mad and killed themselves.

Squibs were still ridiculed, but if you were lucky enough to be born into a noble or respected family you could be employed as a nanny or companion to another pureblood family. Squibs who were not so fortunate were given the nastier jobs, such as tidying up the dead.

Purebloods were at the highest, continuing to intermarry and doing anything they could to stay in favour - many coming up with fanatical evidence of themselves being related to other, more noble, families. However, while they were the highest, they also had the furthest to fall.

Halfbloods were not as privileged, and had to work harder, but they received far more respect that initially expected. They were encouraged to breed out their muggle descendants by mixing in with the poorer purebloods. In their careers they could never exceed a certain point, but they able to have a comfortable enough lifestyle and were generally left to themselves.

Traitors suffered death, but they could repent if their blood status was high enough, and there were some who had managed to work their way up into favour again, but Lord Voldemort was unpredictable with his acts of mercy. Families were torn apart by the loss of their children, brothers, sisters, parents, cousins - their pleading never helped.

Mudbloods lived a life of fear. They were not welcome within the wizarding community as it was believed that they could steal more magic, and they were not welcome in the muggle community in case they taught the muggles how to steal the magic and raised up a rebellion. Instead, mudbloods would be left to roam the dangerous forests, always hiding. And one was hidden away so carefully that although many looked for her, she could never be found. Her name was Hermione Granger.


	2. A girl who can't refuse

**Hello, me again! I'm glad that some of you enjoyed the last chapter, I hope that you enjoy this one too! I've basically planned everything out already, but it would be fabulous to get some reviews from you guys. **

**Love xx**

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She liked to watch the sun rise. It was beautiful. It was pure. Then she would return to her little bed with its white linen sheets, white silk blankets, white satin pillows and sleep.

The maids would come in a few hours later to wake her and to put her in a casual robe to receive the apprentice servers who would check her room for anything dangerous. They insisted that it was for her own safety, but it was only to protect themselves. Years ago, she had stored a small blade beneath her mattress, only for it to have been discovered. She was punished brutally for it and they took her new obedience as compliancy. But Hermione was just biding her time.

When they didn't find anything, they would give her a curt clipped nod and leave. The maids would then take her to be bathed. Years ago they would all sit in silence, but now the maids chatted amongst each other, and all the while Hermione listened for any piece of news that might help, anything that suggested something other than harmony in the outside world. Since she'd arrived at the Manor all those years ago, Hermione had never left and they very rarely had visitors, let alone ones who actually wanted to talk to her. She dreamed constantly of the outside world, always wondering who was left in it and how she could help them fight back.

Once dressed in her plain grey uniform, Hermione would be led to prayers. Lord Voldemort liked the idea of prayers. He wanted everyone to pray to him, for him. But she would quietly murmur the prayers of her childhood, the words that had, at the time, meant nothing but now meant everything. Holding onto her religion made her remember that there was no good or evil, there were only choices; choices that could manipulated into something else after time.

Then it was time to break their fast. Hermione did not know so much about the outside world's diet, but she knew that the purebloods in the Manor could eat whatever they wanted and the servants got the leftovers. Hermione was not afforded the luxury of choosing what she wanted to eat. She was strictly supervised over her meals to make sure that she was eating well. For breakfast, an egg, milk, orange juice and bread. If she did not eat it all up then she couldn't leave the table. It was humiliating.

A health exam came next, looking at her fitness and checking for signs of any injury or illness. She would swim, run, and do aerobics while notes were made. The Healers would then prod and poke her about how she felt, taking her temperature, her blood and her measurements. Consistency was key. Then came her least favourite part; The potion was the most disgusting thing she could ever imagine. The lumpy mush tasted like it was rotten. No matter how many gobletfuls, she was sure that she would never get used to the taste. When she eventually managed to swallow it (every last drop), she'd become drowsy and had to be taken to her room for a nap. She didn't understand how something that tasted like death was supposed to promote new life.

They let her sleep for a couple of hours, resting was important and it wasn't like Hermione had much to entertain herself with anyway. They'd waken her at lunchtime with a selection of vegetables with the another potion (luckily, not quite so disgusting as the first). Then came her favourite part of the day. She was allowed to go to the library. It was an enormous room, bigger than The Burrow and filled with more books than she'd ever seen in her life. She'd worked out that the only way to read so many books would be to live for thousands and thousands of years, because of that quite a lot of them seemed untouched - she'd been told that some were collectibles and not meant for reading, but that had never made any sense to her. The books were strictly regulated. Lord Voldemort had created a list of banned books and decreed that the forbidden ones should be burned. However, before he got to the Manor, Hermione had had the common sense to swap around the books and the book covers - the guards didn't bother checking properly. So now Hermione could read a 'History of Magic', with her supervisors believing that she was only reading 'My Struggle'.

Dinner would be a small amount of meat (usually chicken), potatoes and plenty of asparagus and other foods that were said to make a son. Oddly enough, the wizarding world did not have spells that could alter gender and instead had to rely on old superstitions.

Hermione would then spend some time with Narcissa, generally keeping quiet while Narcissa chatted to her about frivolous things like shoes and flower arrangements; it was only when the guards zoned out of their conversation was Narcissa able to lean forwards and whisper a rushed story of something happening in the outside world, usually concerning Lucius. For example, Hermione had learned that Lucius was appearing at the wizarding ambassador for Britain, going round to other magical countries and seeking their alliances. France had entertained the idea for a while, they had similar ideals but weren't prepared to follow Lord Voldemort. Germany had been vehemently against the idea, the sanctuary for the witches and wizards who'd managed to get out in time, and had chased Lucius away from the borders. Spain was conflicted. Italy was horrified by the idea. Russia had offered friendship, but Lord Voldemort knew full well that the Russians had their own agenda and couldn't fully be trusted.

Magic was not the same all over the world, it differed from continent to continent. Europe was Fire magic, Asia was Wind magic, the Americas was Earth magic, Antarctica was water magic, Africa's magic was focused on the mind and Australia's magic focused on the body.

The witches and wizards in Asia who used magic crystals to change the weather were very interested in what Voldemort had to say and were a powerful ally. Africa had not yet been approached, their power simply came from looking at you and all of a sudden you were hypnotised. While possibly the most powerful ally to have, Voldemort recognised that the African magic was unpredictable and might not work in his favour. The witches and wizards in the Americas had been notoriously difficult to track down. They were Native Americans and lived as if the settlers had never arrived. They seldom spoke, and when they did it was only in riddles. Due to their respect for the Earth, the Earth was its ally and would do all it could to protect them; their power over nature was appealing, but they'd stayed silent while Lucius had spoken to them, and when the Death Eaters had returned to speak to them again the next day, they were gone. Lord Voldemort had little time for the magic in Australia. He didn't appreciate it, believing that the mind was a far more powerful thing than the body - but he was mistaken. If you allowed a witch or wizard to touch your flesh, even just for a second, your body belonged to them and they could do with it what they wanted. If they wanted you injured, it was done. If they wanted you ill, it was done. If they wanted you strong and athletic, it was done. If they wanted you dead, it was done. The last one, Antarctica, used magic that was highly unpredictable and often cruel. Obviously, they'd been the first choice of an ally, but the Death Eaters had been chased away. The witches and wizards in Antarctica didn't understand their magic and were frightened by the power of it. Their fear turned into bitterness and hate, and soon it became a powerful weapon.

However, other than what Lucius had been up to, Hermione's knowledge of the outside world was deliberately kept to a minimum. It was no surprise. She was the last in Britain who had a genuine claim to being Harry Potter's confidant. She was a symbol to the outside world and needed to be looked after as such.

Hermione had also born Lord Voldemort's first child. It did not matter that their daughter did not come from love. He insisted that love was only a weakness and that any child born from it would also be weak. Had he not destroyed Harry Potter? The boy who was loved? No, lust for her was enough, and the lust for the ancient magic running in her veins.

To the high born purebloods, Hermione was seen as an insolent whore, and yet the Manor was often crowded with people who wanted to catch a glimpse of this strange girl. Whenever they had visitors, Hermione was stuffed into a robe of light blue threaded with gold and put next to Narcissa. From all the potions that she took, Hermione practically glowed with health and vitality which made the women very jealous. They whispered amongst each other that more potions were slipped into her food to make her more calm and demure. Some had sworn that they had seen her on days where it had not been put in, and she'd gone into a violent rage and was quickly whisked away, but no one could be certain.

Narcissa was entertaining some witches today, although privately Hermione called them hags. These women came from great noble families, like Narcissa, and stared at her with a mixture of disgust and loathing. It was well known that these families had been pushing their wives and daughters towards Voldemort with the hope of gaining favour, but so far it appeared that he had not been particularly interested.

'Cegar will of course be taking that position.' Claudine Sandhurst said rather pompously, breaking Hermione's line of thought. She stroked the extravagant furs around her shoulders in the sweltering heat of July. 'He will be sublime. I have every confidence in him - as does the Minister.'

The other witches nodded in agreement.

'Well, I have news too.' Delilah Greengrass cut in before Claudine could utter another word. 'I have now managed to secure a marriage for all of my girls. Petra is to go to Lestrange, Violet to Sordirnphn and Mylanya to Dolohov.'

Everyone murmured their congratulations, other than one young witch (whom Hermione did not know) who exclaimed. 'But they are so young! I could not bear for my children to go at that age!'

'It has to be done.' The women nodded wisely with Delilah. 'I will look forward to having time with my grandbabies. Grandsons, praise be.'

'Praise be,' came the automatic reply and they all took a sip of drink.

'So, did you hear the latest news?' Madame Marchgoyle asked. 'My husband has been working late every night this week. That wretched boy just won't say how he did it.'

Hermione's ears perked up. This could be interesting. She held her breath, not wanting anything to remind them all that she was there.

'Will he ever?' Claudine interrupted, shaking her head disapprovingly. 'He is loyal to the other side. He was born into it. I doubt that he could ever be swayed.'

'Well if the boy can't be swayed as you say, then my husband isn't doing his job properly.' Mrs. Mulciber said grimly from the corner. 'The boy will crack. With Callidus doing the questioning and my husbands talents, it won't take long. We have to find out. Our lives have been put jeopardy.'

'That's enough.' A commanding drawl came from the doorway.

Hermione turned, startled, to find Lucius Malfoy staring coldly at the witches. He was the only person she knew who'd managed to age well - particularly in these times, the lines around his eyes made him look all the more distinguished and the silver in his hair only made him come across as more ethereal than before. Yet age had made him look deadly, the disappointment of losing his only son more so.

Lucius fixed his steely glare onto Hermione and his wife, both worried that they had been caught. 'Hermione, come with me. You too, Narcissa.'

Obediently they both rose and went to him in silence. He walked Hermione to her room and saw her shut safely inside before he turned to his wife and hissed, 'you have got to be more careful!'

'I'm sorry.' She said, placing an hand on his arm, trying to calm him. 'I didn't think. I'm sorry, husband.'

'She's more dangerous than she looks. Although it seems like we are playing nursemaid for her, we are first and foremost her guards. She's still too strong at the moment. Visitors remark that she is too active, that she knows too much. We can't give him a reason to doubt us, or the girl.'

Lucius saw something flicker in his wife's face. He knew full well that Narcissa liked Hermione knowing too much, it gave her a small sense of rebellion as if that could possibly avenge the murder of their son; it was the most discreet way of saying 'up yours' to Voldemort.

'You know that what I say makes sense.' Lucius said softly, stroking a tendril of hair from Narcissa's face. 'I'm just trying to protect you. Protect us all. We need her to fade away.'

'You think he will forget her? Like my sister?'

'No. It's strange. He seems in awe of her, he won't allow anyone to call her mudblood. Yet, every time he starts to give an explanation as to why he views her as such a powerful witch, he drops off. I think he wants us to ask.'

'Then why don't you?'

'You should know by now to never question Voldemort. He puts you in that situation so that he can pretend that you have just challenged his authority. Best to just agree and be gormless in his presence. The last man who fell into that trap died in my arms. I have no urge to be in that place myself.'

* * *

It was times like this that she wished she had a pensieve. Even if she'd been allowed a notebook that would have been good enough, but anything she wrote down was checked. No, she just had to store things in her brain and save them for later. Hermione sat down on her bed and tried to recall every piece of information she could. There were no firm allies for Voldemort's wizarding Britain - Albania was the only one he could claim, and she'd heard that it had been through blackmail that they'd agreed to support him. Voldemort had four houses: The Moor, The Glen, The Valley and (his favourite residence) The Fen. Each house was unplottable, and required an invitation in order to find it. She'd heard that you could be standing right in front of it, but if you had not been invited then you would not be able to see it. These houses were also heavily guarded with dementors, which meant that no one stayed in Voldemort's company for very long.

Was her daughter there with him? No one had offered the information and she hadn't overheard it either. When Rose had been taken she quizzed everyone she ever came across as to her daughter's whereabouts, until Narcissa pointed out that she was playing right into Voldemort's hands. He wanted her to fight, to show herself off as a Gryffindor. For now she needed the subtlety of a Slytherin - something that she wasn't accustomed to.

A loud crash disturbed her thoughts. Startled, Hermione ran to the window to look out in the courtyard below.

Hundreds of witches and wizards were climbing over the enormous gate that led to the courtyard of the Manor. They were all thin and dirty, reminding Hermione of werewolves in the old days, but now the werewolves were plump and clean thanks to Greyback, these people were rebels.

In all honesty she was surprised that there were still rebels out there - let alone a massive crowd like this. There hadn't been any rebel attacks in years, she assumed that it was because they were all dead. However, from the look of them, they may as well be.

A hand grabbed onto Hermione's shoulder and roughly pulled her away from the window.

'To the dungeons, quickly.' He snarled.

Hermione didn't bother arguing. Not only was he much stronger than her, he also had a wand. She let herself be tugged down the winding staircase going further down into the darkness, further away from the roars of the rebels and finally pushed into the dungeon.

Narcissa quickly embraced her.

'Did you recognise anyone?' She muttered.

'No.' Hermione whispered, before being pulled away again.

The ladies of the Manor were all huddled together in fear. Even eleven year old Barnaby had been sent upstairs to fight. That was Voldemort's rule: If you were old enough to have a wand, then you were old enough to fight. Interestingly, that rule did not apply for women. He seemed to dislike having them on the battlefield, which was odd seeing as Bellatrix was clearly his best fighter. Lucius had once told her that he thought they got in the way and were more prone to hysterics. Looking over at the wailing Claudine Sandhurst, Hermione was tempted to agree.

From high above there was a further crash, the sound of stomping feet and another roar of anger. The rebels had managed to get into the Manor.

Hermione felt giddy with excitement for the first time in years. Rebels had not managed to get into the Manor in years. They were usually all killed in the courtyard. She wanted to scream out to them, until she felt a wand point at the small of her back.

'Not a sound.' Her captor whispered in her ear.

Angrily Hermione shoved him away. 'Fuck off.' She snarled. 'You stay away from me.'

For a moment he looked hurt, his dark eyes searching hers, looking for some comfort from the past. But then he pointed his wand at her temple.

'Any sound and I vill put you to sleep, and believe me, the Dark Lord vill not take kindly to your disobedience.'

Voldemort doesn't take kindly to anything I do, Hermione thought. Calling out won't make much of a difference.

When he came towards her again, she screamed and wiggled out of his strong grasp.

'Get away! Fuck off!'

The ladies looked on in horror as Hermione scratched him across the face. While he staggered back, Hermione looked at her bloody fingernails. Nice work.

Another guard grabbed her from behind. Shrieking, she thrashed her legs about. 'I'm down here!' She cried. 'I'm down here! Please! Come to the dungeons! I'm down here!'

Another guard went to grab her legs, but she kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold. It wasn't until a curse was sent flying her way did she fall to the ground. While she was on her knees, they tied her arms behind her back and another put his wand to her temple.

'repente somno'

Instantly she felt drowsy. Her world was becoming a blurr. Hermione tried to fight the need to sleep, but she was growing weaker and weaker. Just as she was about to fall, she caught the eye of the guard she'd just attacked.

'I hate you.' She whispered. 'I hate you, Krum.'

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**Tada! So that was the second chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. xx**


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